


The Road Less Traveled Epilogue: On The Road

by verityburns



Series: The Road Less Traveled [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Excessive Fluff, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Really - very fluffy indeed. I'm not even kidding!, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-15
Updated: 2010-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verityburns/pseuds/verityburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epilogue to 'The Road Less Traveled', set two years later. Will not make sense on its own!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Less Traveled Epilogue: On The Road

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Dansk available: [verityburns: The Road Less Traveled - Epilog (dansk oversættelse) - 15. juni 2012](https://archiveofourown.org/works/434437) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)



**EPILOGUE:** _**MYCROFT P.O.V.** _

_Two years later_ _… A day in the life of Mycroft Holmes_.

"Sir?"

I rolled over sleepily.

"Good morning, Sir." There was a chink of china as my tea was deposited on the bedside table.

"Good morning…" I waited.

"Anthea today, sir," replied my invaluable assistant. "It seemed appropriate," she added, allowing herself a small smile.

"Indeed." I nodded, sitting up and reaching for my Earl Grey - which was perfect, of course. Anthea was undoubtedly an ideal companion. It was difficult to find someone with her range of skills who was still willing to make tea, but she seemed to take satisfaction in providing a full service. If she also detested her given name to such an extent that she insisted on changing it every day, that was a fairly harmless foible, even occasionally useful. Truly, we had an excellent arrangement.

I favoured her with a benevolent smile. "Any developments, my dear?"

Her gaze flew to her BlackBerry. "I'm afraid your brother seems a little… agitated this morning," she advised, glancing up at me. "He's been deducing the chef."

"I see," I responded, sipping my tea. "Measures?"

She looked down again. "Calming presence introduced to the chef - seems effective." She scrolled along a little. "Mummy Holmes dispatched to walk Sherlock around the grounds."

"Excellent," I responded. "Please make a note to have Mummy deal with any other fallout from her insistence on tradition over common sense."

"Yes, Sir." She kept her expression carefully bland as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Once I was dressed and had endured my usual frugal breakfast (oh, how I envied Sherlock his metabolism), I strolled out to the garden, meeting the other members of my immediate family as they returned from their walk.

"Have you seen John?" Sherlock demanded at once. He did, indeed, seem agitated; I upgraded my internal alertness to Level Two.

"Not as yet," I replied, in as calm a tone as possible. "Would you like me to find him?"

He cast a reproachful look at Mummy, who was shaking her head at him. "Now, now, Sherlock, dear," she reproved him. "It's only until just after luncheon. Why don't we go and see how Harry is getting on?"

I noticed Sherlock raising an eyebrow at me, and realised that I was unconsciously stroking my jaw. Ever since the unfortunate encounter when Harriet came to collect John's belongings, it seemed an automatic reflex whenever her name was mentioned. I lowered my hand and he smirked.

Mummy had already turned and was sailing down the patio when Sherlock looked back to me. "Check on him, would you?"

I nodded, patting his arm. "Don't worry, little brother. Everything will be fine, I guarantee it."

* * *

Two hours later, I was at Level Three and beginning to question my confidence.

John was, of course, perfectly well; his usual level-headed, sensible self, remaining in the East Wing as instructed. Sherlock, however, had managed first to upset Harriet with an observation about alcohol-free wine being available, and then to outplay the lead violinist, leaving the man in tears and refusing to perform.

"You need to give him something to do," observed John, who looked somewhat unlike himself in his smart suit.

"The violinist?" I enquired, only half paying attention. It seemed the stress was beginning to affect us all.

"Sherlock," he replied, rolling his eyes at me. "You've forgotten what he used to be like."

I raised a brow in query, and he sighed.

"Remember the bullet holes in the wall? The reprogramming of your listening devices so they only picked up Jazz FM? You know the sort of things he used to get up to between cases."

"Before he discovered the varied uses of cupboards?" I was unable to resist enquiring, and he blushed a satisfyingly deep shade of red.

Early surveillance footage had often shown John and Sherlock entering a corridor at one end, with a typically thirty minute interval before they emerged at the other. Initial confusion had given way to the now well established fact that Sherlock had a predilection for cupboards or, at least, cupboards into which he could manage to squeeze with John. As for John himself, he seemed perfectly able to resist cupboards when given the opportunity to do so. However, he was completely unable to resist Sherlock, so the overall effect was the same.

I thought back to their first visit to the family home, where we were currently all in residence. After the shocking discovery by the second footman (who had since abandoned his girlfriend and taken up with her brother), Mummy had started hanging a scarf over the door to indicate when a cupboard was in use.

They had been particularly insatiable that week, I recalled, as it was shortly after the unfortunate swimming pool debacle and Sherlock had seemed unwilling to lose contact with John even for a moment, as a result.

I had my own, rather too vivid, recollection of seeing significantly more of my brother than was in any way necessary or socially acceptable, when Mummy and I had broken our stroll round the gardens in order to investigate developments in the west greenhouse - the actual developments we encountered being far from the early tomatoes we had anticipated. Mummy, of course, had taken the whole thing very much in stride, although she had later expressed regret over not putting on her spectacles before we went out.

My somewhat uncomfortable memories were interrupted by the appearance of Anthea, who looked most uncharacteristically flustered.

"I'm afraid we have something of a situation developing, Sir."

"Korea?" I enquired. Really, another international disaster which required my attention would be most inconvenient today.

"No, Sir. The kitchen." She looked grim. "It would seem that the lady I recruited to calm the chef has been rather over effective. He is apparently now under the influence of a ' _herbal soother'_ , which has rendered him incapable of cooking."

"Do we not have a second chef on stand-by?" It was not like Anthea, or Mummy, to take chances on such a thing.

She glanced down at her phone again. "We did, Sir. But I'm afraid your brother has just informed him that his wife is having an affair with her tennis coach so he has, in fact, departed."

"This is exactly what I mean," chipped in John. "With nothing for his brain to do, you've unleashed a frighteningly intelligent six foot toddler on the household. He is bored. He is also stressed about today. Which means he is destructive, belligerent and likely to cause untold havoc." He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know what your mother was thinking with this rule, nor do I understand why Sherlock is going along with it."

I regarded him closely. In truth, he did look a little on edge himself, worried now about Sherlock and no doubt anticipating the collapse of the whole day. Also, Mummy had only sprung her request on them after their arrival the previous afternoon, so they had obviously not had a chance to discuss it. I checked my watch – just over an hour to luncheon, then two more hours to go. Clearly, something had to be done.

"Anthea, please ask Sherlock to meet me in his room, and divert Mummy to resolve the chef issue in whatever manner she sees fit."

"John." I turned to him. "Please come with me." As we moved along the corridor I attempted to explain Sherlock's willingness to please Mummy in this matter, his desire to make amends for keeping her on the fringe of his life for so many years, but I'm not sure that John was paying attention.

Sherlock's room was on a corner of the main house and he was already waiting when we reached our destination, sitting on the window seat to the left of the door and staring out over the kitchen garden, one leg half curled under him and the other swinging restlessly. I stopped in the entrance, blocking John behind me.

"Sherlock," I started, resisting the temptation to rebuke him for the trouble he had caused. "I have brought John to keep you out of mischief."

He was rising to his feet with his head half turned before he caught himself and disconsolately sank back down. "I'm not supposed to see him." He sounded fed up.

"Then close your eyes," retorted John, pushing past me and covering the distance in a few short strides. He brought his hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and I could physically witness the tension leaving my brother as he rested his head against John's torso, eyes obediently closed.

"Luncheon in one hour," I reminded them as I turned to leave. "Sherlock in the Dining Room with Mummy and myself, John in the East Wing with Harriet and the rest of your party, who will be arriving shortly. I will look after them until you come down."

I glanced back to make sure they were listening and promptly wished I hadn't. John had produced a silk scarf from somewhere which he was applying as a make-shift blindfold and Sherlock already had his shirt off and was making good progress on John's trousers.

I closed the door gently behind me, tying my handkerchief around the handle as a warning to the staff. That should certainly keep my brother occupied for a while.

* * *

As I reached the Main Hall, Lestrade was just arriving with Mary at his side. I moved forward to greet them, explaining that John would join them shortly and offering drinks in the meantime; a glass of single malt for Lestrade, and a soft drink for Mary of course.

It had been John's determination to stay in touch with Mary which had caused the first major row between the boys. Sherlock had not responded well to the news and had been unusually inventive in his efforts to persuade John against it. John had proved himself equally ingenious in his determination to reassure his partner that Sherlock was, in fact, the only one he wanted. I consider myself a man of the world, but some of the surveillance reports had caused even my eyebrows to rise.

It was around this time that their impact on others was first noticed. It became apparent that exposure to Sherlock and John as a couple had a noticeable effect on the sexual orientation of some of the more susceptible observers – the curious became experimental and the flexible became positively active. Anthea believed it was connected with the boys' intensity and theorised that their somewhat dangerous lifestyle added an edge which was unusually potent. Be that as it may, more than a few surprising relationship developments had resulted from assignment to that particular surveillance detail, and we now had to be increasingly careful when selecting team members.

As it turned out, John had a stubborn streak which even Sherlock could not dent, and personally I think this was a key factor in the success of their relationship, since otherwise my brother would have ridden roughshod over him. Once it became clear that John was not going to give way, Sherlock turned his consideration to other options. If John could not be deterred from seeing Mary, then Mary must be distracted from focusing on John.

In discussion with me regarding this issue, it occurred to him that if Mary liked _John,_ then perhaps she would also like the only _other_ man Sherlock found to be tolerable… For a daunting moment, I feared he was going to attempt to turn poor Miss Morstan's affections in _my_ direction, but presumably he had discounted me on the grounds of our family connection, as it seemed he was referring to Lestrade, whose marriage had sadly gone the way of so many other police officers' some years before.

The introduction was made and the rest, as they say, is history.

* * *

As one o-clock neared, I became a little concerned that neither Sherlock nor John would put in an appearance at all. I was about to dispatch Anthea, who had nerves of steel, to check on them when Sherlock made his appearance in the doorway.

Exchanging a worried glance with my assistant, I moved to cut him off as Anthea quickly diverted Mummy towards the drinks tray. Reaching Sherlock, I took his arm in a firm grip and pulled him back out into the hallway. He just smiled at me, an expression of unusual tranquility on his face.

"Sherlock!" I shook him slightly. "Sherlock, pull yourself together! Even with the wrong spectacles, one look at you and Mummy is going to know exactly what you've been doing for the last hour!"

He looked indignant. "I didn't see him!" he protested. "Mummy said I shouldn't see him before the ceremony and I didn't." The smile was back. "John is brilliant in his own way, Mycroft. He used a blindfold, you know. I couldn't see anything. It was…"

This wasn't helping. If possible, he was looking even more thoroughly shagged the longer he thought about it.

"Sherlock, while I recognise that you have followed Mummy's directives, I do not think that she will appreciate the distinction." He didn't appear to be listening to me. "Remember last night… sleeping apart from John for the first time in over two years just to satisfy Mummy's obsession with tradition - you don't want that effort to be wasted do you?"

Still nothing, his eyes were glazing over and he looked seconds away from heading back to the bedroom. There was only one thing for it. I hated to do this to him, but he'd be furious if Mummy caught him out and he and John had gone through all this for nothing. I braced myself. "Moriarty," I said.

Three minutes later we walked back into the Drawing Room, our faces polite masks of inscrutability. Mummy was looking anxious and I overheard some of her conversation with Anthea as I approached.

"…looked doped to the eyeballs," she was saying. "He's not back on those horrible drugs is he? I thought that was all behind him."

Anthea smirked slightly, catching my eye. "I believe someone may have slipped him something," she replied, completely deadpan. "Just to calm him down, you know, purely medicinal. Ah, there he is now."

She indicated Sherlock, who was greeting Lestrade warmly and even being friendly to Mary. His jealousy and resentment had proven inversely proportionate to Mary's expanding waistline - now she was at eight months, he was positively cordial; I'd even heard Lestrade hinting at the role of godfather, although Sherlock seemed oblivious.

Mummy had turned and was looking on approvingly. "Well, I do hope whatever they gave him wasn't addictive," she commented. "You know what he's like."

Anthea and I exchanged glances once again, since it was frankly difficult to imagine a couple more addicted to each other than Sherlock and John. I resorted to making soothing noises and topping up the gin and tonics.

Amid parting cries of "Good luck!" and "See you later!" Anthea led the Lestrades off to join John's luncheon party, while we sat down with Mummy and Mrs Hudson, although whether Mrs Hudson deserved to eat at all, after her attempted nobbling of the chef, was debatable. If Mummy hadn't repeatedly dunked his head into a bucket of chilled Evian, our cheese soufflé might well have been replaced by cheese on toast.

* * *

It had taken just over eighteen months to push through the legislation to allow civil marriage for same-sex couples.

There were those who expressed surprise at Sherlock's eagerness to enter such a plebeian state as matrimony - indeed, I do not for a moment feel that his respect for the institution has grown in any way. However, as he was not allowed to brand John's forehead with the words ' _Property of Sherlock Holmes_ ', he had settled on marriage as the next best thing.

Civil partnership agreements had been permitted since December 2005, but as I was confident of changing the law fairly quickly and Mummy had her heart set on a proper marriage, Sherlock had waited. I think he was also a little nervous of scaring John off in the early months of their reunion, although I had rarely met a man more difficult to intimidate than my soon to be Brother-in-Law.

Still, the ink was barely dry on the statute before he had whisked John away for the weekend and returned with the smuggest smile this side of the equator and a tired, but very happy, fiancé.

If I'm honest, which I do try to be with myself at least, I think that Sherlock would really have preferred Lestrade to be his 'Best Man', rather than myself. However, that would have left John with Harriet, which everyone seemed to acknowledge was a bad idea, so they had obviously worked it out between themselves. I realised I was fingering my jaw again when Sherlock caught my eye.

"Don't worry," he said patronisingly. "We'll keep her away from you."

Before long the other guests began to arrive. Not too many, fortunately, despite Mummy's best efforts to surreptitiously add to the guest list. Several of the relatives she kept adding had actually been dead for years, which did make it easier to keep the numbers down.

I was busy greeting and seating while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on an increasingly restless Sherlock, when I spotted Mummy progressing towards the bar and quickly moved to intercept her.

She turned on me. "Who invited my bloody cousin, Serena?" she demanded. "I certainly didn't put her name down! _Serena_ indeed. Can there ever have been a more inappropriately named woman? A less peaceful person I cannot begin to imagine." She gripped my arm tightly and leaned in. "D'you know, she's already asked if I had to sell my best jewellery to pay for this? Assumed that was why I was wearing the pearls!"

Words seemed to temporarily fail her, so I interrupted what was a familiar tirade to redirect her focus towards her youngest son, who was now well on his way to a swift right hook from the photographer.

"This is your fault, Mummy." I pointed her in the direction of the problem. "Please deal with it."

"But it's tradition!" she protested, far from the first time. "He's not supposed to see John before the ceremony, it's bad luck."

"What bad luck could possibly be worse than having him alienate his future Sister-in-Law before she finished the flowers, almost take out the entire catering arrangements, reduce the musician to tears and now be half way to losing the photographer?" I could feel my tension rising to a Level Four, which hadn't happened since 2003.

She patted my arm infuriatingly. "Have a drink, Mycroft. You look like you need one." She swept off again, calling over her shoulder, "Leave Sherlock to me!"

I was far from reassured, but it seemed that I may as well take her advice. The decision had barely been made when the wonderful Anthea was at my elbow, glass in hand. She truly was a marvel. I briefly toyed with the thought of extending our association, but determined that such decisions were best kept separate from a wedding environment.

"I had to move the morgue girl again," she told me. "She seems determined to get a good view and keeps edging forward. Other than that, everything seems to be running smoothly." She glanced down at her screen. "As you can see, Miss Watson did get the flowers finished once your brother had been removed from the area. The effect of the herbal soother seems short lived so the original chef is back at the helm and the first violinist was actually inferior to the second, he'd simply been there longer, so he's no great loss." She looked up. "Will there be anything more, sir?"

I took a sip of my whisky and allowed myself to relax back to Level Two.

"That all seems to be in order," I congratulated her. "All in a day's work, eh?"

"If it's all the same to you, Sir," she replied. "I'll take Korea every time."

Half an hour later it was time for the service to start, but there was still no sign of either Sherlock or Mummy, who had disappeared together immediately after our chat. John's party had taken their seats, but John himself was similarly absent.

I approached the other Best Man, waited through the inevitable 'Who's got the rings?' joke, then enquired as to John's whereabouts.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "You've lost _your_ groom too, then?"

I responded with a questioning look.

"Don't look at me! I haven't got him," he denied. "Your mother appeared fifteen minutes ago and whisked John away, and I haven't seen Sherlock since we left you earlier."

The rear doors flew open as we spoke and Mummy entered in her usual dramatic style, sailing up the aisle in a cloud of Chanel No.5 amid the rattling of most of the contents of her jewellery box.

"Where are they?" I hissed as she reached me.

"Do calm down, Mycroft. You'll give yourself an ulcer." Strangely, she was the only person who ever needed to tell me to calm down. "They'll be here in a minute. Don't worry..." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "... _I locked all the cupboards_."

I gazed at her in disbelief. "What happened to 'Not before the ceremony'?" I demanded, my mind flashing over all the stresses of the morning.

"You know perfectly well what they're like." She smoothed her hair, which seemed to have acquired a variety of jewelled decorations. "I had to give them at least a few minutes together before the actual service or who knows what their first kiss would turn into. Aunt Millicent's in the front row and you know her heart's not strong."

Sure enough, the boys appeared moments later looking slightly dishevelled, but so blindingly happy it was hard to notice anything else.

Really, Mummy should have known better than to try to keep these two apart, I mused, as the ceremony got underway. It was a lesson the criminal underworld had quickly learned.

I had added a covert protection detail to their surveillance unit within hours of John's return to Baker Street, aware that he might be perceived as a chink in Sherlock's armour – a way to obstruct or manipulate the world's only consulting detective. I had certainly not gone to all this trouble just to have some petty criminal interfere at this stage, and frankly I was not sure how, or even _if,_ my brother would survive the loss of John after everything they had been through.

Sherlock had immediately noticed the change, of course, but he uncharacteristically said nothing, which I took as both his tacit consent and as a measure of his concern for John.

As luck would have it, it was not John who was next targeted, but actually my brother who found himself at the mercy of three particularly unpleasant villains, whose stash from a recent string of break-ins Sherlock had located. Constantly on the alert for more sophisticated manoeuvres, my team were unprepared for such a basic and brutal assault and had John not made a surprise visit home from the surgery at lunchtime, it is undoubtedly true that Sherlock's injuries would have been much more extensive, and possible life-threatening, than the sprained wrist and bruised ribs he actually sustained.

The damage inflicted on his assailants by John, however, was much more significant; leading ultimately to threats of lawsuits for 'excessive and unreasonable force', 'ongoing disability' and 'permanent disfigurement'. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the police seemed singularly disinterested in following up any of these claims, although the very fact of their having been made did serve to reinforce the 'word on the street' regarding Sherlock Holmes having a protector who should not be trifled with.

I sat down with the rest of the congregation as the music died away (the second violinist really was exceptional, I noted) before sinking back into my memories...

Moriarty had come next. The name had become something of an obsession with Sherlock and they had danced round each other for some time before the consulting criminal had made his fatal error.

It was a shame, in a way, if one looked at the situation from a purely intellectual standpoint. Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty could have been one of the classic rivalries; they'd had a great game for a while, but when Moriarty had threatened John in such a disturbing manner, it was most definitely _Game Over_.

Mr Moriarty certainly wouldn't be consulting with anyone again, I reflected, and the stories of what had happened when Sherlock unleashed the darker side of his nature had achieved a status so legendary, they no doubt protected John more effectively than any number of my security teams – not that I considered calling them off.

No indeed; as long as the boys carried on their dangerous lifestyle, Big Brother would be watching, even if it was only to laugh as hardened muggers started panicking if John so much as tripped while passing near them.

* * *

I emerged from my reverie to find that it was almost time to step into my 'Best Man' role, which I moved forward to do.

Really, I could have searched the world and not found anyone more suited to Sherlock than John. There was no doubt in the minds of anyone present that day as to the overwhelming rightness of what was taking place.

John himself had initially seemed easier to please, but it was impossible now to see his face as he gazed at my brother and imagine him looking at anyone else the same way.

I had been with them when the subject of rings came up and they had both announced that they wanted to wear one, each being a little surprised by the other's statement.

Knowing Sherlock's possessiveness, John had quite rightly assumed that a ring would be appearing on his finger (I may perhaps have inadvertently tipped him off slightly here), but he had not expected Sherlock to be willing to do the same. Sherlock had actually looked a little bashful as he admitted that it proved somebody wanted him, even though most of the people he met thought him a freak.

He, in turn, had seemed taken aback by John's compliance and I clearly recalled John's response...

"You still think that, because I wanted to keep our relationship a secret at first, I am ashamed of you, of us; that I'm embarrassed about being in a relationship with another man." He had raised a hand to stroke through Sherlock's hair, in a gesture now long familiar to all of us. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than with you," he promised. "Anyone who can't see how lucky I am isn't worth my attention - _I am proud of you_."

Sherlock had appeared to lose control of himself at this point and I had made a hasty exit, forgotten and unnoticed, as events took a most predictable turn...

Right now, I would have dearly liked to inspect John's ring, as I was sure there would be some indication of ownership engraved somewhere, but the duty of ring-holder had fallen to Lestrade and I doubted there would be a future opportunity, since John would most certainly be discouraged from ever taking it off.

Once the rings had been exchanged, it was hardly any time before the words, "I now pronounce you married," rang out and I must admit to feeling a lump in my throat – I had always hoped for this outcome and planned towards it, even knowing that there were so many points at which my arrangements could have gone astray. I am aware that most people believe me to be a cold, manipulative bastard, but I make no apology for my actions; not with this result in front of me.

I glanced round to where the boys were now locked in each others arms. Aunt Millicent was certainly getting an eyeful, but her heart seemed to be bearing up well under the strain. Miss Hooper, however, was looking dangerously flushed.

I caught Lestrade's eye and we coughed in unison. Sherlock was well known for having no public reticence to speak of, but John was usually much more reserved. I supposed he could be forgiven, in the circumstances, for getting somewhat carried away on this particular occasion.

* * *

The rest of the day passed smoothly now that Sherlock's attention was safely focused on John once more, although he had distracted himself for long enough to advise Mummy that most of Cousin Serena's jewellery was of the costume variety, which had absolutely made her day.

I was fondly observing her descent into a smug, champagne fuelled oblivion, when Anthea approached me once more.

"All going well?" I enquired, finally with some measure of confidence.

"On the whole, Sir. They have run out of ice at the bar, and the pantry is currently unavailable." I glanced round, and sure enough the boys had disappeared. "But they are making do with frozen lemon slices for now."

"Very good," I responded. "Are the first team in place for honeymoon security?"

She checked her BlackBerry again. "Yes, Sir." She hesitated. "May I query the team you have scheduled for the second week?"

I raised my eyebrows. It was most unusual for Anthea to question my assignments, but I motioned her to continue.

"I'm sorry, Sir. But Adamson is already Bi and the most recent psychiatric reports indicate that Martindale's marriage is going through a rough patch." She paused significantly. "Bear in mind it is their honeymoon, sir. They're probably going to be even more…" She was clearly struggling to find an appropriate word. "... _effective_ than usual."

"Hmm," I mused, thinking once more about what an asset she was. "You raise a valid point, my dear." I looked at her again. "How would _you_ feel about a week in The Alps?"

She looked startled. "You mean with Adamson, Sir?"

I shook my head. "Certainly not." I smiled at her. "I'm quite sure I couldn't manage without you for a whole week..."

She checked her phone once again. "That would be lovely, Sir."

I don't think I've ever seen her blush before.

* * *

Eventually the boys emerged from christening the pantry – hardly the most romantic venue for a newly married couple, but appropriate enough for these two, I supposed - and prepared to make their exit via the car I had arranged to take them to the airport; they should reach their destination by nightfall.

There were hugs and fond farewells all round, which Sherlock endured as best he could while maintaining his usual grip on John's hip. They waved briefly as the car pulled away, but our last sight was of them gradually slipping from view, Sherlock's hand coming to the back of John's head as they sank slowly below the level of the seats.

As I got ready for bed at the end of this long, but very satisfying day, I thought back to the poem I had read as part of the service. It had been in my mind from the very first time I met John and Sherlock together, and it seemed to embody my perception of their journey.

Perhaps the majority of the congregation found it an odd choice for a wedding reading, but I had seen the boys smile at each other in recognition and that was enough for me…

 **The Road Not Taken** by _Robert Frost_

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.

* * *

[ ](http://somachiou.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d33n0un)

**Artwork** :

[ _The Wedding_](http://somachiou.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d33n0un) by [soma chiou](http://somachiou.deviantart.com/)

**Author's Note**

Hopefully the ' _Mystery of the Missing L_ ' from the title has now been cleared up, as it was taken from this American poem so I used the American spelling.

This was originally 'The End'... but I did return to do a 'Christmas Special', which is next in the series. It was supposed to be short and fluffy, but, well... it turns out I can't do 'short'.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic of "The Road Less Traveled" & Epilogue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/443862) by [podfic_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/podfic_lover/pseuds/podfic_lover), [sly (curiously_me)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiously_me/pseuds/sly)




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